


By Design

by JeromeClarke107



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Abed takes my breath away too Jeff, Angst, Apology of sorts, Healing, I may be a little in love with Jeff too, Jeff's insecure, M/M, Open Ending, lots of Jeff angst, not gonna lie, takes place during S2E19 Critical Film Studies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeromeClarke107/pseuds/JeromeClarke107
Summary: After they reconnect at the Pulp Fiction Party, Abed follows Jeff home instead of leaving things unsaid.
Relationships: Abed Nadir/Jeff Winger
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	By Design

**Author's Note:**

> Hello All!
> 
> Just a quick Jabed piece after the infamous dinner fiasco. 
> 
> Filled for a one word prompt list by heclgehog on WordPress
> 
> Prompt: Pretty
> 
> Enjoy!

“So…” Jeff starts as he flips through a few different keys to find the one for his apartment, “Is there a reason you had to walk me back to my apartment door like a teenage girl coming back from prom?”

Abed tilts his head when Jeff looks back at him over his shoulder. Jeff offers him a small smile, but Abed doesn’t return it.

He follows Jeff through the door though, and closes it behind him as he starts to tug off the strange beige cardigan he’s been wearing all night. He throws it across the back of Jeff’s couch. Like it has a permanent place, like it belongs there.

“Abed, do you live here now? Did I miss something?”

He takes a few more steps towards him, then reaches out and takes Jeff’s hand in his. His fingers are delicate and light, and Jeff finds his eyes sweeping the room in anxious anticipation. He doesn’t know what to do and he hates not knowing what to do; and he doesn't know what , _Abed’s_ doing.

“Abed-”

“I hurt you tonight.”

Jeff scoffs and pulls his hand away,” People hurt each other all the time. It happens. We’re good, I promise.”

Abed approaches him again, his eyes serious even as Jeff brushes him off. He busies himself with pouring a glass of water in the kitchen; meeting Abed’s eyes right now makes him feel remarkably uneasy.

When he turns around, Abed’s standing behind him.

He doesn’t expect it, and it spooks him.

“Fuck, Abed! Do you need a bell? Or something?”

He takes the water from Jeff’s hand and puts it on the counter behind him, then replaces it with his own, squeezing Jeff’s fingers delicately.

“Are you trying to propose to me?” Jeff laughs, hoping it doesn’t sound as forced as it feels.

Abed shakes his head, “We aren’t just people. We don’t just hurt each other, shrug our shoulders, and walk away.”

Jeff’s mouth forms into a thin line, “I don’t want to talk about this, Abed. I’m not mad at you. I promise.”

“I’m not worried that you’re mad at me.”

His voice is as soft as it always is, and his deep brown eyes match it. Jeff closes his eyes and sighs, helpless.

He doesn’t mean for his words to come out in a whisper, but they do all the same.

“Then why _are_ you here?”

“I just think there are some things you should know.”

He takes Jeff’s other hand and starts leading him towards the couch. He feels weird in his formal suit and Abed dressed like he’s going to dinner with a socialite. There isn’t anything about this that _doesn’t_ feel weird, though. It’s just that-

That Abed’s never looked at him like this before.

He nods towards the couch for Jeff to sit down, and he follows the silent order without thought. Abed only disconnects their hands long enough to take his position on the coffee table in front of Jeff.

“Abed, what the hell is-”

“You’re pretty, Jeff.”

Jeff’s eyes meet his, and he immediately wants to stop this conversation before it gets the chance to start.

“You’re beyond pretty. No costumes necessary, no hiding behind fake names on phone calls with strangers. You’re pretty because your eyes are the perfect shade of blue, but also because you care about missing purple pens and protecting me from bullies. You’re pretty because you have really full lips that spread across your face when you smile, but also because you watched every single Star Wars movie with me back to back that week Troy got the flu.”

“Abed-”

“Shut up.”

“Ok.”

“You’re pretty because you have really high cheekbones and a sharp jawline, but also because you care about claymation specials and moms who don’t come home for Christmas. You’re pretty because you have nice abs, but also because you let sad old men keep you as their emergency contact because you know they don’t have anyone else to turn to.”

A hand cups his face, and Jeff lets himself lean into it.

“You’re a _leading man_ , Jeff. And you’re one of the good ones, like they’re supposed to be.”

He tilts Jeff’s face up and their eyes meet.

“You’re beautiful by design. Your role _demands_ it.”

There’s a moment between them, something undefinable that lingers in a steady gaze, before Jeff clears his throat and looks away, breaking it. Tears are pooling in his eyes, but he won’t let them fall.

He’s already cried in front of Abed once in the last twenty-four hours.

His body feels weak, like something essential’s been drained from it. He’s always been well aware of the weight words can hold, of the things they can do when they’re strung together correctly and delivered with the right emotion. He’s stood in front of juries and used words to work wonders, before.

But he’s certain, somehow, that he’s never made _anyone_ feel _anything_ like that.

He’s vaguely aware of Abed’s voice behind him, steady and strong as Jeff falls apart silently in front of him.

“I’m sorry, was that too much? I don’t usually monologue. Jeff? Are you ok?”

Jeff shakes his head.

He’s not ok. He hasn’t been ok in a long time, since before Greendale and the study group. There’s so much about him that’s not ok, he doesn’t even know where to begin or how to explain it. Tonight barely even grazed the surface of his not-okayness.

Then Abed’s beside him on the couch, an arm around his shoulders, and he’s leaning into it without thinking about the consequences or implications or anything beyond the simple touch of skin-on-skin contact.

He can’t bring himself to speak (knows himself well enough to know that he’ll ugly-cry if he does), so he leans his forehead against Abed’s, instead. He can feel Abed breathing against him, and when Abed’s arm crosses over his lap to rest on his knee, he doesn’t push it away.

. . .

A week later, they find themselves sitting across from each other at the same table as before. Jeff’s already made the waiter swear on his life that this isn’t a homage to anything, and he finds himself relaxing against the seat as Abed observes the menu in front of him.

He sighs.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it by heart. How many times did you eat at this place before you chose it for your birthday?”

Abed looks down at the table, guilty.

“A few.”

“Abed.”

“Six. Or seven.”

“How did you manage that? With the prices and everything?”

Abed taps his fingers against the table and Jeff puts his menu down, gives Abed his full and undivided attention.

“ I may have gone out on a few less-than-real dates with a few more-than-rich people in order to get the location right.”

Jeff stares at him for a moment before he speaks again, laughter seeping through his voice before he can stop it..

“I’m thoroughly impressed.”

Abed shrugs. And goes back to looking at the menu.

Jeff rolls his eyes.

“Hey, Abed.”

“Hmm?”

“You should monologue more often.”

Abed puts his menu down and looks up at Jeff, his eyes soft and brown and _beautiful_.

“You’re good at it.”

Abed smiles, and looks back down at his menu.


End file.
